


Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow

by BreTheWriter



Series: Hold Me Like You'll Never Let Me Go [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreTheWriter/pseuds/BreTheWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They only have one more night together before Phil has to leave. He plans to make it count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purpleyedemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleyedemon/gifts).



            Phil stood by the window, leaning one arm against the wall next to it and watching the storm rage over the ocean. Thunder grumbled loudly; a fork of bright lightning split the sky, practically kissing the water, which churned and frothed with the might of the downpour.

            “Phil?”

            Phil didn’t turn around. Even if the limited reflectivity of the darkened window hadn’t enabled him to see the vague shape of the person behind him, he would have known the voice in an instant. “It’s raining,” he said. “Kind of fitting for tonight, isn’t it?”

            “Phil.” A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. Phil turned his head and met Clint’s eyes, almost steel-blue tonight. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

            Phil covered Clint’s hand with his own. “I can’t help it.” He took a couple of steps closer to his lover—his _fiancé_. “I—I hate this, Clint. I hate that I have to leave you. I hate that I can’t stay, and that you can’t come.”

            “I know,” Clint said. He moved a little closer, brought up his free hand to touch Phil’s cheek lightly. There was a slight rasping sound as he brushed over two days’ worth of stubble. “You’ve always hated it.”

            “I hate not knowing when I’ll see you again.” Unconsciously, Phil leaned his cheek into Clint’s hand.

            Clint rubbed the ball of his thumb over Phil’s cheekbone. “It doesn’t exactly thrill me, either.”

            “Maybe I should suggest we stay later,” Phil murmured. “Until after lunch, maybe. Or until after sunrise, at least…”

            “We both know you can’t do that,” Clint said. “The longer you stay, the harder it’ll be for you to go…”

            “I know,” Phil whispered. “I know.”

            “I wish you didn’t have to go,” Clint confessed in a low voice. He dropped his gaze briefly. “I wish the world would just take care of itself for a month or two, so we could get some of the time we lost back.”

            “When this is over,” Phil said, trying to force a smile. “You, me, the cabin in Schuyler. Enough supplies to last a month without having to leave. We’ll curl up in front of the fire and forget the world. Just the two of us.”

            “Sounds like the perfect honeymoon,” Clint said softly.

            Tears welled up in Phil’s eyes at the word _honeymoon._ “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered. Unable to stand it any longer, he crushed Clint to him in a tight hug, bringing their lips together in a bruising kiss.

            Clint clung to him tightly, returning the kiss with equal passion, pressing himself against Phil as though they could meld together, become one flesh, two halves of the same whole. Phil gripped the back of Clint’s head, keeping them together as long as possible, until the need for air forced them to break the kiss. For a moment, they just rested their foreheads against one another.

            “Phil,” Clint whispered, the name falling from his lips like a prayer.

            “Clint,” Phil breathed, trying to put the same reverence and devotion into his own voice. Clint shivered beneath his hands, tightening his grip.

            “It’s our last night together,” he said quietly. “Let’s make it count, yeah?”

            Phil ran a hand lightly down Clint’s spine. “What did you have in mind?”

            Clint trembled again. “Well, that’s—that’s a good start.”

            Phil smiled, slowly. “We’ve got all night. Let’s do this right.” He tipped Clint’s head back and kissed him again.

            This time it was deeper, hotter. Phil’s tongue darted into the wet cavern of Clint’s mouth. Clint slid his hands up Phil’s shoulders and behind his neck. They stood like that for a moment before Phil let his hands roam downwards, rubbing over the curve of Clint’s ass, encased in his blue jeans. There was still entirely too much fabric between the two of them.

            He drew his hands back up, slipping them under the soft cotton of Clint’s well-worn t-shirt, a dark purple one Phil had given him for a thirtieth birthday present. Clint’s breath hitched as Phil let his fingers trail up and down Clint’s ribs—they were too prominent, he thought distantly, too easily distinguishable. Phil pushed the shirt up, then broke the kiss and helped Clint pull it over his head.

            Once Clint was free of the shirt, he started at once on the buttons of Phil’s shirt. He wore button-ups more often than not; as the leader of the team, he needed to look professional. But more than that, he knew that the shirts turned Clint on, especially when he wore them with the top button undone and the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Tonight he made no move to help Clint, understanding that the other man needed to do this for himself; instead, he pressed small kisses to Clint’s lips and neck as he fumbled with the buttons. In seconds he was down to his white undershirt, and this time he did help Clint get it off of him.

            He could feel himself getting hard, his cock pressing against his fly. “Clint,” he murmured, kissing Clint’s temple, his neck, his shoulders. Clint moaned softly and began fumbling with the hook on Phil’s slacks.

            Phil toyed with the belt loops of Clint’s jeans, but made no move to unfasten them. Clint managed to get Phil’s pants open and pushed them down hurriedly; they dropped to his knees, and Phil stepped out of them casually, shaking his legs to free them from the confining fabric, glad he’d already taken his socks and shoes off.

            “My turn now,” he said in Clint’s ear, making his voice as warm and velvety as he could. Clint shivered again as Phil took his time with the button, slowly lowered the zipper, and eased the denim over Clint’s hips. He knelt down as he brought the jeans down, pressing soft kisses to the skin of Clint’s thighs, his knees, his shins.

            “Phil,” Clint murmured, stepping out of the jeans as they reached the floor.

            Phil stood back up, trailing his hands along Clint’s legs as he did so. Clint whimpered slightly, stooping to kiss him. They were down to their underwear now, Clint wearing plain white briefs and Phil wearing his red, white, and blue boxer shorts, both of their erections obvious.

            “Nice to see I can still do this to you,” Phil said, sliding a hand under the elastic waistband and stroking Clint’s ass cheek, then suddenly giving a sharp squeeze.

            Clint gasped and clung to Phil’s shoulders. “Always,” he breathed.

            Phil kissed him again, divesting him of his underwear as Clint got the boxers off, too. And then they were in each other’s arms, gloriously naked and outrageously erect and holding each other tightly.

            “Come on, sweetheart,” Phil said, his lips against Clint’s shoulder. “Let’s go to bed.”

            “Phil, God, Phil.” Clint tightened his arms around Phil.

            Phil guided Clint over to the bed, laid him down gently, then straddled him. For a moment, he just let himself enjoy the sight, his lover flushed and spread out beneath him, gazing up at him with those beautiful eyes, changeable eyes, ocean eyes. Clint reached up and cupped Phil’s jaw with one hand.

            “I love you,” he said, clearly and distinctly.

            “I love you, too.” Phil bent down and captured Clint’s lips in a kiss again.

            He began kissing his way down Clint’s chest, nipping lightly at his collarbone, tongue flicking out over his nipple, ghosting over each rib, making Clint gasp and writhe beneath him. His back arched and a cry tore itself from his throat as Phil bit down on his hip, sucking hard and then soothing the spot with his tongue. He ran his hands reverently over Clint’s legs.

            “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

            “Phil, oh, God,” Clint choked out.

            Phil nuzzled the inside of Clint’s thighs, rubbing first one and then the other with his chin. Clint let out another wordless moan as Phil’s stubble rasped against the sensitive skin. Phil softly kissed the reddened flesh before turning his attention to Clint’s cock, beginning to leak at the tip with pre-come.

            This was something both of them had missed over the last two years. A lot. After nearly twenty years together, they knew each other inside and out, knew every switch and trigger, every turn-on and turn-off. And while they were perfectly capable of being intimate without having sex, the sex was definitely something they had missed. The first night they’d spent together since Phil’s death had been almost a week ago, and they’d made love like it was the first time. This time, Phil resolved to treat it like it would be the last time they’d have the chance, so there would be no regrets.

            He licked a stripe up the underside of the shaft. Clint gasped, spreading his legs further out. Phil took the hint and took the head in between his lips, his tongue flicking over the slit at the tip.

            “ _Phil…_ ” His name escaped Clint’s lips in a faint mewling sound as his cock twitched.

            Phil kept going, slowly taking more and more of Clint into his mouth until his nose was close to his lover’s belly. Clint moaned again, his hips bucking upwards as Phil bobbed his head up and down, feeling the tip hit the back of his throat. One of Clint’s hands came up to tangle in Phil’s hair, and Phil gripped Clint’s thighs, hard enough that he knew he was going to leave bruises. He knew exactly how hard to press to leave those marks—impressions of his fingers, his palms, his mouth. Clint had once admitted how much he loved seeing those marks afterwards, especially when Phil had to leave, because it reminded him of how much Phil loved him, reminded them both and everyone else that he was his…

            “Phil, oh, God, Phil, I’m gonna—”

            Phil heard the warning, closed his eyes in anticipation, pulled back just enough, and Clint came with a cry. Phil kept swallowing, rubbing and kneading at Clint’s flesh, coaxing Clint through the orgasm. Finally, he eased back, popping his lips over the head. Clint was breathing heavily, his face flushed, his pupils wide.

            “Holy shit, Phil,” he whispered.

            Phil slid the length of his lover’s body, cupped his face in his hand. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he murmured.

            Clint’s eyes searched Phil’s face for a moment. He took Phil’s face in his hands, which were trembling. “Wanna taste myself on you,” he whispered, pulling Phil down and kissing him passionately. Phil knew his lips and tongue were still sticky with Clint’s come, but he didn’t care if Clint didn’t, which he obviously didn’t.

            After a moment, Clint broke the kiss and looked back up at Phil, his expression needy and desperate. “Wanna feel you,” he gasped out. “Wanna feel you inside me…oh, God, please, Phil…”

            “All right, sweetheart.” Phil kissed Clint again, for good measure, then reached for the bottle of lube on the nightstand.

            Clint started to roll onto his stomach, but Phil stopped him. “No,” he whispered. “I want to see you. Please, Clint.”

            Clint’s eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded. The surprise wasn’t entirely unjustified. Most people who saw Phil in public—the mild-mannered agent in the quiet black suit and tie—would probably have assumed that he preferred more vanilla sex. Even the people who knew him would have been surprised if they’d seen him in the bedroom (which they never would—exhibitionism was not one of his kinks, thanks). He and Clint had, over the years, done an awful lot of things, from the tender to the tough, from gentle lovemaking to rough fucking, usually with Phil taking the more assertive, dominant role.  And without exception, Clint was face-down, sometimes with his head thrown back, sometimes burying it in the pillow or against the wall, but always with Phil taking him from behind. They’d never done it face-to-face, not like this. But tonight, Phil didn’t want to lose one moment he could be looking at the man he loved. Thankfully, Clint seemed only too ready to comply.

            Phil sat back on his haunches, poured some lube into his hand, and warmed it up for a minute before coating his fingers with it. “Ready?” he asked.

            “Oh, God, yes.”

            Phil shifted so that he was pressed up against the underside of Clint’s legs. Clint hooked them over his shoulders and wrapped his hands in the sheets beneath him for stability. Phil rubbed his chin against Clint’s knee, scraping a little bit of a burn onto the flesh there, as he slid the first finger into his hole.

            Clint whimpered, a high, keening sound, as Phil began to slowly and relentlessly work the tight ring of muscle open. Once he felt Clint start to relax around him, he added a second finger, then a third. Clint writhed and moaned as Phil’s fingers found his prostate.

            After a moment’s hesitation, he added a fourth finger, and the noise Clint made was positively indecent. “Phil, oh, God, Phil…” he moaned. Phil was slightly satisfied to see that, impossible as it seemed, Clint was starting to get hard again.

            “You like that, sweetheart?” he whispered, crooking his fingers again to brush the prostate.

            Clint arched his back sharply. “ _Phil,_ ” he cried.

            Phil withdrew his fingers, making Clint gasp at the sudden loss of contact, then reached for the lube bottle again. He probably used a little more than he should have to coat his own cock, which was starting to twitch painfully at the sight and sound of Clint beneath him, but they’d learned the hard way that it was better to have too much lube than too little. He wrapped one hand around himself, lining up against Clint, and braced himself against the mattress with the other.

            “Ready, sweetheart?” he asked.

            “Phil, please… _please…_ ” Clint moaned.

            Phil slid inside of Clint, just a little bit, just enough to tease both of them. Clint drew in a deep breath, his hips twitching upwards again. Phil kept feinting for a few moments, sliding in for no more than an inch or two before pulling back out, until Clint cried out, “ _Phil!”_

            At that, Phil bowed his head and thrust into Clint as deeply as he could. Clint let out a scream, his head snapping backwards. One hand reached up to thread through Phil’s hair, gripping tightly; the other went to Phil’s face, rubbing desperately at his cheek. Phil kept up his rhythm, changing the angle so that he hit Clint’s prostate every couple of thrusts, but he turned his head slightly and took Clint’s thumb into his mouth, sucking and licking at the callused pad. Clint’s hand in Phil’s hair, his legs over Phil’s shoulders, tightened involuntarily. He made a truly filthy sound in the back of his throat.

            Phil brought his free hand around to grip Clint’s cock in between them, stroking in time with the motion of his hips, bringing Clint back to full arousal. Clint writhed beneath him, gasping and panting. “Christ, Phil—oh, God—”

            He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, staring up at Phil with his pupils blown wide. “Don’t stop,” he gasped out.

            Phil kept up the rhythm until he could feel himself right at the tipping point. He pulled his mouth off Clint’s thumb with a pop, tugged a little harder on Clint’s cock, and said in a low growl, “Come on, sweetheart, come for me, there’s my good boy.”

            Clint’s eyes rolled back in his head as he came in Phil’s hand, hot and sticky. In almost the same instant, Phil froze momentarily at his own release. He coaxed both of them through the aftershocks of orgasm, then, finally, realized they were both done. He released Clint and braced himself against the mattress for a moment, breathing heavily, before reluctantly easing himself out of Clint.

            His energy suddenly spent, he collapsed on the mattress next to Clint, who immediately crawled into his arms. For several long moments they simply held each other, gasping for air and letting their heart rates get under control.

            Finally, Phil murmured, “We should get cleaned up.”

            “I don’t think I can move,” Clint confessed.

            Phil knew his lover well enough to know when he was serious and when he was joking. He eased Clint out of his arms, then got to his feet, a little surprised to find that his knees were shaking. After a moment, however, he managed to make his way to the bathroom, grab a damp washcloth, and make his way back to Clint’s side. Silently, he set about the business of wiping the stripes of come and lube off of both of them.

            He couldn’t resist pressing another rough kiss to the inside of Clint’s still-reddened thighs, which made the blond shiver. But he was gentle and tender with the washcloth, making sure he got both of them clean. Finally, he tossed the washcloth to one side and crawled back to lean against the pillow, taking Clint into his arms again.

            “I love you,” he murmured.

            “I love you, too,” Clint murmured back. He leaned his head against Phil’s shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to walk tomorrow, but I love you.”

            “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Phil asked anxiously. “I mean—not seriously?”

            “I’m fine, Phil.” Clint kissed his neck lightly. “It’s not like I have to go anywhere tomorrow. Not like that time in Bucharest.”

            “I said I was sorry about that.”

            “And I told you to forget it. You know how much I love this.” Clint smiled up at Phil, his eyes flickering slightly.

            “I think everyone within a ten-mile radius knows how much you love this,” Phil said, returning the smile.

            “These walls are pretty thick,” Clint said, snuggling a little closer and wincing. “Tony’s probably still in his lab, and there’s a hallway _and_ an empty room between us and Fitz. Everyone else is on the floor below us. I’m sure nobody heard anything.”

            “I’m sure we’ll find out in the morning if that’s not true.” Phil watched Clint shift and wince again, and his brows drew together in concern. “You’re sure I didn’t—”

            “I’m sure, Phil,” Clint reassured him. “Honest. I’m sore, but it’s a good kind of sore. And it’s not like I’m gonna have scars or anything.”

            Phil ran his fingers lightly over the puckered white flesh on Clint’s side. “Don’t get any more of these, would you?”

            “I could say the same to you.” Clint touched the scar beneath the hair on Phil’s chest, too damned close to his heart for anyone’s comfort. “I’m gonna be sitting around here for the next who knows how long. You’re gonna be out on the front lines and…God, Phil, just be careful. Please.”

            “I will, sweetheart. I promise.” Phil kissed the top of Clint’s head. “And…I can’t thank you enough for looking after Fitz, you and Tony. It—it means so much to the team. And to me.”

            “Of course, Phil. You know that.”

            “Yeah.” Phil closed his eyes and whispered, “Thank God you weren’t with us. I couldn’t have stood it if you were in danger, too.”

            Clint was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said quietly, “Phil, can I—can I tell you something? Something kind of important?”

            Phil looked down. “Of course, sweetheart.”

            Clint looked up, and Phil was astonished to see tears in his eyes. “Phil…it’s going again.”

            Phil was about to ask what Clint was talking about. Then he sucked in a deep breath as it hit him. “Your—oh, God, Clint. How long has it—?”

            “I can’t say for certain,” Clint confessed. “But I noticed it yesterday, when I was talking to Steve on the roof. Things just…it’s not all the time, but sometimes if people are talking quietly and not looking at me, things get…muddy. I thought I was getting better, but…”

            “Shh.” Phil stroked Clint’s short hair back from his forehead. “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’ll be all right. There are always options.”

            “I know. If nothing else, Tony’ll build me something tiny and super-advanced.” Clint tried to smile, then rested his head on Phil’s chest. “I just didn’t want you to…I wanted you to know. I didn’t want to hide it from you anymore.”

            “I love you so much,” Phil choked out.

            “I love you, too, Phil. I love you more than I can ever say.” Clint pressed a kiss to the center of the scar. “I don’t want you to leave.”

            “I don’t want to go,” Phil confessed. “I wouldn’t go if there weren’t people depending on me. But I’ll be back, sweetheart. Here, or Avengers Tower—I swear I’ll be back, I swear I’ll find you. I love you and I will never leave you for long.”

            “I know,” Clint said softly. “I hope you know that cuts both ways. If anything happens…you call me and I don’t care what I have to do, Phil, if I have to walk to Antarctica barefoot and dig through the ice with my bare hands to find you, I will.”

            “It won’t come to that.” Phil tightened his embrace again. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be here.”

            “I don’t want to waste a single second of the time we’ve got left,” Clint said in a low voice. “I don’t want to sleep and miss a thing.”

            Phil understood. Oh, how he understood. “Then stay awake with me all night.”

            Clint looked up at Phil with a soft smile. “That’s a promise, Phil.” He pulled Phil’s head down and kissed him. “I love you.”

            “I love you, too.” How often had they said that tonight, Phil wondered? A dozen times—a hundred? It didn’t matter. No matter how often he said it, it would never be enough. Nothing would ever make up for the two years they’d lost, nothing would make up for the countless separations they were forced to endure.

            But maybe it would be enough for tonight.


End file.
